Page 15 of Wicked Promises

“I’m here,” Ms. McCaw comes in behind the detective. “Traffic. I was across town. Margo, how are you feeling?”

Overwhelmed, scared. Confused.

None of those seem satisfactory, though. Growing up in the system—and also being literally torn away from my father when he was arrested—I do not trust the police.

So this guy, who seems like he could easily strip out of the leather jacket and enter a caged MMA fight, who has a badge on his belt and a scowl painted on his rather scary face, flies to the top of my Do Not Trust list.

I school my features into some sort of stoicism. “I’m alive, so…”

“Detective Masters wants to chat with you about what happened,” Ms. McCaw explains. “I’m here to be your advocate.”

I haven’t seen her in a while.

The nurse and doctor file out with a warning to take it easy on me.

The detective drags a chair over to the side of my bed and makes himself comfortable.

He has piercing blue eyes and a smooth head. His leather jacket doesn’t screamdetective, but it definitely fits his personality. Besides the badge at his hip, there’s a holstered gun on the other side of his body.

I don’t like guns.

He leans forward, staring like he could see straight through me. “As your social worker explained, I’m Detective Jim Masters. I’m just going to ask you some questions about yesterday.”

I shoot up. “Yesterday?It’s been?—”

“About twelve hours since the accident,” he says. “Your abductor brought you in around eight-thirty last night.”

Making it eight-thirty in the morning. I glance toward the window, at the pale sunlight streaming in. But then the first part of his sentence registers. My abductor brought me in?

I frown. “Why would they do that?”

There were two of them. Talking. I cross my arms and pinch my skin where he can’t see. The localized pain centers me, although what they were talking about, even their voices, slips out of my mind.

He leans forward. “They? How many? Did you see anything that could identify them?”

“I…” I hesitate. “No. I didn’t see anything.”

My head freakingkills. At my request, they turn off the overhead lights, letting the picture window illuminate the room.

The detective stares at me in a way that tells me he thinks I’m lying. “A friend of Caleb’s?”

I freeze. “What?”

The detective waves his hand impatiently. “Come on, Margo. I know Caleb had something to do with it. So who was he working with?”

“Are you sayingCalebbrought me to the hospital?” My mouth dries. I risk a glance at Lenora, who nods carefully.

Yes. Okay. Caleb brought me in—but he wasn’t the one who took me.

“He would never hurt me, Detective,” I say in a low voice.

Not quite the truth. He’s hurt me plenty the last few months.

But to this degree?Never.

Masters watches me. “Caleb Asher orchestrated the whole thing. He has motive and the arrogance to pull it off. You said you heard another voice. Was it one of his friends?”

No, no, no.